HAIR TODAY, GONE TOMORROW?

 Have I mentioned my decision to color my hair?  I mean, why color my hair when it’s likely to fall out in bunches?  Well, here’s my reasoning:  If I’m not yet ready to see salt and pepper staring out of my mirror then why not indulge my wish to resemble myself pre-cancer for as long as possible ...

The fact that my hair has been shoulder length ever since college suggests why I’ll work to accept this short style (that’s certainly not my choice) while it continues to grow in length.

At first, having been bald, I was glad to see any hair at all, but here’s why that initial reaction was short lived—I missed seeing the blue eyed brunette I’d known myself to be before cancer challenged me to accept the fact that I am fighting for my life.  And the color of my hair is within my control.

In addition to that, the chemo combo ordered by my oncologist is the same as the last protocol, which proved most effective at pummeling the first tumor that was surgically removed in Houston, last summer, and while I was on that protocol, my hair had begun to grow back.  So if my hair had begun to grow back while that chemo was being administered then perhaps my ‘crowning glory’ will withstand six infusions of this same combination of drugs, over these next two months ...

If not, then my colorful assortment of knit caps is still in the basket that’s sitting atop my bedside commode.

Following my last PET scan, I’d planned to store my commode and walker (as well as all of the hospital supplies) in our garage.  Needless to say, that plan was fated to go sideways, and as the results of my last PET scan threw a wrench into the smooth course of my on-going recovery, everything I’ll need in the aftermath this coming surgery will remain in readiness for my homecoming from Mayo—exactly one year after last summer’s surgical homecoming from Houston.

How do I feel about my need to take two steps back before my recovery moves forward, again?  Well—initially I’d felt devastated and frightened until this realization brightened my instinctive reaction:  As long as the words ‘forward’ and ‘recovery’ remain integral to this second proactive plan to save my life, my spirit embraces the wisdom inherent within coaxing my mind to relax anxiety by mustering the courage to accept whatever it takes to regain my good health so as to extend my life span.  In short, my attitude (and hair color) are not beyond my control.  And with my loving family and friends (and Compazine) by my side, this summer of 2021 will pass, one day at a time, just as was true of  last summer, 2020

And now, as my sister, Lauren and brother-in-law, Michael—who stopped to pick up a bottle of sangria—are due to arrive, I’ll brush a healthy hue of color onto my cheeks in readiness to lighten the mood by welcoming my loved ones with an upbeat smile, framed by lustrous brunette curls, which, thus far, reach down just far enough to tickle my ears  ...

As always, Will and I are sending our love to each of you,

❤️Annie

Annie

MY FIRST INFUSION OF CHEMO

Though yesterday, I’d awakened feeling tense about my first infusion of chemo at Mayo, my decision to participate in my Shakespeare class via Zoom while the infusion took place saw me relax so naturally, once our discussion concerning Henry V filled my mind, that I felt calm throughout the rest of the day.

Within an hour of our arrival home, the door bell rang and in walked my sister, Lauren and brother-in-law, Michael.  They’d driven to our house straight from the airport, and as my sister is the family’s baker extraordinaire, she began to unload the small cooler, carried on the plane, and while relaxing on couches surrounding three sides of our living room coffee table, we four feasted away on cookies, brownies, banana bread and my all time favorite chocolates.

As we snacked at this variety of home made treats, our conversation revolved around grandchildren, our health and what to order for dinner, and thus did my first day of chemo pass in a most enjoyable manner.

Upon awakening this morning feeling headachy and just a bit nauseous, I took a Compazine and made plans with Lauren and Michael for late afternoon, allowing me to rest quietly for most of the day.  As David plans to return on Friday, they’re staying with one of Lauren’s best friends.

While enjoying a late afternoon snack, paired with a chilled riesling, we four will discuss what to order for dinner—the Compazine proved effective, and I’ve not yet lost my appetite, so I’m thinking ribs ...

Annie

9. MY PLAN TO SEE 100 CANDLES ADORNING MY CAKE

As you get to know me, you’ll see that I always have a plan though, often times, I’ve no conscious clue as to what that plan may be until I begin to write.  For instance, let’s see what shapes up concerning my need to fortify four pillars of personal strength over the months, directly ahead:

By way of writing, I believe my ‘intuitive voice’ will gently coax my instinctive mindset to release its natural hold onto fear, little by little, day by day.

In order to relieve inner tension, I’ll rely upon a half of an Ativan taken in the morning to calm my limbic system enough to limit the amount of adrenaline pumping through my blood stream, so my processor can think clearly with my connection to logic intact.

In short, I’ll ever so gently regain control over the natural emergence of fearful emotions while placing my faith in my doctors’ abilities to gain control over the growth of the tumor via administering doses of chemo that will effectively shrink this invader and annihilate every microscopic cell that poses a threat to my enjoyment of a long and healthy life. 

So how does this plan of action differ from the first?

The first tumor was several cm larger than this one proves to be.

The combinations of chemo chosen to combat the original tumor proved much too harsh for my production of blood to bear without breaking down, causing extreme physical distress in need of several hospitalizations and blood transfusions, over a period of seven months.

This time around, the combination of chemo drugs chosen will replicate the last protocol administered, which had actually proven most effective in attacking tumor cells without placing the healthy cells of my body in mortal danger of collapsing.  And chemo will last only two months before surgery is scheduled.

The first surgery was seriously compounded by the tumor’s invasion of my heart, and thus did open heart surgery precede lung surgery, by one day.

The complex nature of those first surgeries took place in Houston while the apex of the pandemic was surging, suggesting why during my ten day (intensive care) hospital stay, I had no loving advocate at my side when nurses were too busy to respond to my call button though time for pain meds had long past.  And as my sternum had been stapled up while my back had sustained eight to ten inches of sutures, I’d had to FaceTime Will, who would then call the nurses’ station. And if each of his requests had been met with a greater sense of respect than had been true of my own self disciplined declarations of having experienced excruciating pain, I believe his being a surgeon had a lot to do with the positive results Will received, which, much to my frustration, I had not.  I’d felt that for the most part, the nursing care received in Houston was less responsive than that experienced at Mayo. 

First time around—the thoracic surgeon in Houston chose to save as much of my affected lung as possible.  And in the aftermath of that surgery, everyone, including the pathologist, celebrated the safety factor of those margins.

Second time around, knowledge that microscopic cells related to the original tumor had escaped detection offers my Phoenix thoracic surgeon sound reason to take all of my right lung in hopes of leaving no microscopic invaders behind.

This time, a one visitor policy allows Will to accompany me to chemo, labs, diagnostic tests and doctor appointments.

No flights will be taken to and from Houston wearing hasmet suits

One surgery will be scheduled, not two.

Will can be at my side, every day, during my hospital stay.

I will return to our home rather than staying in the RB&B that we’d rented for a month.

As we will not be strictly quarantined, my second recovery from chemo followed by lung surgery will benefit from physical therapy

Many vaccinated loved ones will visit us at home, offering Will’s spirit and mine a natural lift, during the months of this second recovery.

Along with courage, faith, hope, resilience and my two not so secret weapons (love of family and friends), I am wholly determined to recover completely so as to enjoy a long, healthy life, as was true of my beloved mother, who had welcomed help while blowing out 100 candles (plus one for good luck) adorning her birthday cake.

And in addition to feeling hopeful, today, I’ve expressed my faith in my doctors expertise—two personal strengths pocketed—two to go ...

Annie

THIS AND THAT

 This morning, Edie, my dear friend of forty years, will help me to reorganize ‘stuff’ that I’ve not had the energy to neaten up, by myself, and after that, rest will be in order for me until Will and I leave for my appointment with my thoracic surgeon at Mayo, this afternoon, followed by a blood test at which time my port will be flushed and readied for my first infusion of chemo, tomorrow.

In keeping with looking at the bright side, by the time we arrive home from chemo, tomorrow, my sister and brother-in-law will have landed and be on their way to our house ...

Annie

8 WITH REST, MY SPIRIT WILL RALLY ANEW

I believe good things come to those who work toward achieving long range goals

On the other hand, common sense suggests it’s wise for over achievers to balance work with rest

And though this over achiever tends to wear herself out, here’s why my smile appears each time a loved one draws near:

While resting my mind feels most unusual, smiling at those I love feels nothing short of natural ...

Annie

7 MY SPIRIT STILL FEELS WEARY

Though wishing to feel courageous, strong and mighty, the fact that I’m human suggests my spirit’s vulnerability to wearing thin, and though exhaustion has mixed with sadness ever since my most recent CT biopsy report stated that I must fight for my life, anew, intuition suggests that with sufficient time to rest, my spirit will rally, again.  And again.  Naturally.  Suggesting why I’ll not pressure myself to hurry this process along.

If asked why, given time, I believe my spirit will rally on its own, here would be my self confident reply:  History repeats itself.

Though mornings see me feeling sad, my spirit lifts throughout the day, and by evening, I feel pretty much like myself—whoever that may be as I can barely recognize the wearied woman, who, staring out from within my mirror, has withstood serious illness, ever since summer of 2018 when medical professionals could not fathom why I’d experienced pain within the right side of my chest along with excessive fatigue (thus offering the original tumor a year in which to grow so large within my lung as to have invaded my heart before a diagnosis had been detected that proved to be correct).

With chemo commencing, again, this coming Tuesday, my spirit feels hopeful that all four pillars of inner strength will refortify, over these next few days ... and now that I’ve  become aware of feeling hopeful, you and I have just witnessed the re-emergence of one positively focused pillar of personal strength with three to go ... 

👩🏻Annie

6 TWO NOT SO SECRET WEAPONS

In addition to four pillars of strength, it’s been my good fortune to rely upon two not-so-secret weapons as well—

The first being the depths of Will’s loving devotion, which draws upon his professional expertise to remain personally apprised of every aspect of my medical care.

The second being the constant flow of heartfelt support received not only from my husband of 54 years but also in abundance from family and friends for which both Will and I are grateful beyond words.

Annie

5 FOUR PILLARS OF INNER STRENGTH

The four pillars of inner strength that will fortify the sincerity of my spirit’s smile are:

 Courage, Faith, Hope and Resilience

Courage to face whatever is yet unknown

Faith in medical science and my doctors’ expertise

Hope that this second life saving effort will meet with success

Resilience of spirit to stand up, Rocky style, each time the harsh nature of my treatment knocks me down

And, it’s my good fortune to have two not so secret weapons, as well ...

Annie

4 COURAGE, FAITH AND HOPE

 If courage, faith and hope precede the fourth inner strength necessary to quell each next uprising of fear for my life then let’s name this personal trait that transforms courage, faith and hope into an harmonic quartet—-

Annie

3 HOPE

 I’ve been pretty quiet these past few weeks having learned that the tumor has reappeared in my lung.  Currently, my mind, spirit and body feel wholly exhausted.

I believe that after resting my mind for a while, inner tension will relax, freeing my spirit’s natural connection to hope, which, once revived, will resuscitate the courage necessary to withstand additional months of chemo followed by surgery to remove the rest of my right lung.

Hope—not to be confused with denial—is the inner strength that encourages the magic within your mind and mine to believe oneself capable of riding astride a bucking bronco until the spirit of the mighty steed, bucking away at fear, is shown to have absorbed such an abundance of courage that a peaceful sense of trusting oneself to bear that which must be borne is won.

In short—when it comes to taming fear of a malignancy, this is not my spirit’s first rodeo ... 👩🏻 Annie

2 ACCEPTANCE OVER RESIGNATION

The sincerity of my smile as this lengthy ordeal continues on and on depends upon my heartfelt choice to cast resignation aside in favor of accepting myself as a human being with vulnerabilities rather than a heroic being with super powers.

And just as I accept myself as being fallible, I accept that to be true of my doctors, as well.

So in keeping with today’s intuitive train of thought, can you name the inner strength that will enable my positive attitude to cope with whatever lies directly ahead?

Leaving you to consider this insight-driven riddle, overnight, that’s all I’ll say for today

Annie

1 ON FREEDOM FROM FEAR

Buddhist scripture:

“The price of freedom is simply choosing to be; liberation is in the mind.”

Excerpt From

When We Were Young and Brave by Hazel Gaynor

If liberation from a fearful mindset is to be mine then which inner strengths must I consciously muster up, every day?

Courage to place my faith in my doctors’ expertise.

Courage to endure physical distress known to accompany chemo.

Courage to withstand the pain of yet another serious surgery

Faith in my loved ones’s unflagging love and support.

Faith in second chances concerning my making a complete recovery

Renewed faith in all of the above, every day, come what may along the way ...

In truth, writing about placing my faith in personal strengths, which had been mine first time around, is far easier than mustering the re-emergence of my spirit’s inner strengths when my energy’s reserve tank is exceptionally low.

Annie

WITHIN THIS POST, HOST AND HOSE ARE ONE AND THE SAME

 PTSD

At times when PTSD had hijacked my brain’s natural connection to logic, my clarity “... blurred and spun in a feverish whirl ... Anna grew dizzy, her head swimming, her body alive with a crackling heat as if she were feverish ... She ... closed her eyes, letting him guide her, giving herself up to ... the moment ... .”

“Cold sweat doused her feverish skin. Her heart raced until it felt as if it would propel itself right out of her chest.”

Excerpt From

Secrets of Nanreath Hall

by Alix Rickloff

Though the excerpt above has nothing to do with cancer or PTSD, upon absorbing those words while reading a novel, my brain conjured up memories of panic experienced during my youth, which I’d disclosed to no one—inclusive of myself—until an astute therapist, well versed in identifying the main root of current anxiety attacks associated with past experiences diagnosed me with PTSD. 

During moments in which a current situation hot wires my brain, jumpstarting a fearful state of mind, my eyes see not that which is right before me but rather flashes of unidentified terrors from long ago, which, having remained locked inside a mental block, stimulate my basic instincts to summon my defense system to bury every one of those traumatizing experiences so deeply into subconscious memory that only two darkly shadowed details, both of which seem utterly unrelated to the life I’ve known as my own, dart into my conscious memory, now and then, only to be sucked back into subconscious storage so swiftly as to dizzy my mind with visualizing him seated on the edge of a narrow bed bending over me while my conscious mind escaped into an all encompassing altered state until suddenly, her angry voice, standing in the shadows of the open doorway cracked through my self protective mental block  just long enough for my mind to muffle them yelling at each other in the hallway directly outside of the room I’d been given for the night though these are the only words that have ever emerged from the haze of subconscious memory until and including today—What are you doing to her???

The next morning, at breakfast,  we three conversed naturally as if nothing horrific had happened during the dark of night when he had intended to attack much more than my personal sense of safety.  And though they may have ‘acted’ as if naught was amiss, I had no need to ‘act’, being that, by my teens, my defense system had become well practiced at locking every detail of a terrifying memory within its own compartment of my subconscious followed by denial tossing the keys into the winds of time ...

As to the second memory that’s related to the first, only three words emerge from subconscious containment, which, even now, 62 years later, remain empowered to slug my sense of personal safety with the weight of a sledge hammer—lock the door ...

What makes me write of yesteryear’s unhealed terrors, today?  Most likely the fact that visualizing my body and spirit battling cancer, again, conjured up a series of traumatic experiences suffered and left unhealed, long past, based in the fact that upon opening the door to a recent trauma, I have no control over which raw aspect of PTSD may come barreling out of subconscious storage, suggesting why, yet again, I feel deeply thankful for every session of EMDR therapy, which has empowered my processor to identify, believe in and call forth my hose of personal strengths, which flushes out fearful thoughts that naturally emerge each time fate sets my personal sense of safety afire, anew.

👩🏻Annie

PS

Can you believe that the protagonist within the novel I’m reading (to detour my mind from concentrating upon current events concerning my health) is named—Anna ...

THE MAGIC OF THE MIND

Now that I’ve come to understand why my intuitive train of thought offered up second chances for our consideration, the emergence of the magic inherent within the depths of our hearts and minds clarifies what’s to come, yet again ...

Just as our hearts must be open to absorbing second chances at righting love gone wrong, our minds must reconsider how best to remedy a plan that proved to be unsound.

In order to maintain a veneer of calm while making my way through each day, I’ve had need to be ever so quiet, over these last few weeks while undergoing a PET Scan, chest CT, and two lung biopsies via bronchoscope ordered, one after the other, by my thoracic surgeon at Mayo.

This week, the results of a CT guided biopsy confirmed the reoccurrence of Lieomyosarcoma within the same lung that had ailed from the tumor removed, last July.

Looks like chemo and surgery to remove the rest of my right lung are directly ahead.

At this point in time, I’m grateful for this second chance to save my life.

Once appointments with my oncologist and thoracic surgeon, both at Mayo, map out our course of action, I’ll keep you apprised of our step-by-step plan to wither and remove this tumor, thus returning my good health to safe harbor for many years to come ...

Annie 

MUSING UPON SECOND CHANCES

 At times, I find myself scrolling back to a post penned quite some time ago, and if upon review, a passage written does not flow with ease through my mind, the editor within cringes until whatever feels wrinkled has been smoothed out, through and through

Wouldn’t life be grand if bungled mistakes, etched too deeply into conscious memory to be forgotten, could be deleted as if they’d never happened in the first place?

As to why this train of thought chugged through my mind today, in truth, I have no clue

COMPASSION AND APPRECIATION ARE COMPATIBLE

A dear friend sent a text to me in which she was ‘wringing her hands’ based in the fact that so many of her friends are suffering from one malady or another.  As she, at 77 years of age, continues to enjoy good health, I replied:

When those whom you love are enduring the maladies that accompany our age that’s when your focus must consciously appreciate your good health, knowing that compassion for your friends and appreciation of your good fortune are completely compatible.

As to yesterday’s biopsy of my lung, I’ll not receive results for two or three more days ....

Upon arriving home from Mayo, following my CT guided biopsy, I, feeling woozy, changed into my cozy, red and white striped, cotton knit PJ’s and got all comfy on my bed where my mind became wholly immersed in Shakespeare’s play, Henry V.  That surprised me, being that I’d been sedated during the procedure.  Most likely, my having slept for the entire two hours that I was kept in recovery (to make certain that my affected lung would not collapse) proved enough shut eye for me—until later, when a sense of grogginess saw me pick up my bookmark to hold my place with The Bard and having placed Henry V to one side, guess who welcomed a late afternoon nap.

Today, I’m eagerly awaiting the first zoom session of the spring semester, which meets at 2pm.

Annie

WISH ME WELL

No fun

For me

Today

As it is

My task to

Maintain

A calm veneer

Knowing myself

To be

Fully wired

Inside my skin

We’re due

At Mayo

For CT biopsy

At 6:30 AM

Annie

I FEEL NEED OF A NEW ‘PRESCRIPTION’

 It’s no wonder that, though strong, my spirit has not felt lighthearted for quite a while. I’ve felt strictly confined for so long that I often forget to remember to feel grateful whenever my body parts function as they’ve been designed.  Though feeling grateful had proved enough following several serious hospitalizations, over the first year and a half of my illness, here’s what I know myself to be in need of now—fun!  And a self-prescribed sense of fun will surely be shared each time Ravi scampers across the threshold of our front door as her imaginative enthusiastic reaction to everything lights up every room in our home after we’d been separated by an Arcadia door for more than a year!

Last week, we played together on my bed, twice.  Both times, upon readying herself to go home, my grand daughter ran back to hug me, three times.  And each time Ravi said, I love you, Gramma, my strength of spirit reflected the lightheartedness of my reply:  I love you to ... and then I’d pause so Ravi could say ... the moon and back!

When asked, during a FaceTime call with her Uncle David, how she felt playing inside our house for the first time in a year, Ravi replied:  I was happy!  And so excited, my head exploded!

Me too.

🙋🏻‍♀️🎈Annie

WITH APPRECIATION FOR MY ONCOLOGIST’S GENTLE WORDS OF WISDOM

A note sent via my portal to my oncologist following my appointment of more than a week ago:

 Dear Dr. S.

Upon reflection, I realized that the gratitude I feel for having made my way through these last two years was left unexpressed, yesterday.  Perhaps, I’d wearied of approaching each next arduous challenge with such strength of spirit that, this week, my smile had need of rest.

Upon awakening, today, this awareness clarified for me:  Before being diagnosed with this life threatening illness, I'd happily accepted my age, because people, most especially those in the field of medicine, were flabbergasted to learn that I was in my seventies, and as I didn't feel my age, each advancing birthday was cheerfully welcomed.

After 'letting down my hair' (pun intended) in your exam room, yesterday, Insight offered me sound reason to see that as I continue to recover physically, my youthful spirit will recover, as well.  And so, following your prescription to refill my daily need of patience concerning the slo-mo nature of my recovery (as well as the element of isolation felt resultant of our long-lasting Covid quarantine), the sincerity of my spirit’s smile is beginning to perk up, today.

With so much appreciation for your gentle words of wisdom,

🙋🏻‍♀️Annie

And so yet again, ‘sleep on it’ offered my intuitive powers down time necessary to percolate, peacefully, until I awakened to insight spotlighting a mindful sense of clarity arising from within that which had been a darkly cloudy mass of tunnel vision until the dawning of mental sunshine, this morning.

RECONCILING A CONFLICTED STATE OF MIND TAKES TIME

 A week ago Monday, my oncologist said my healing process remains in slo-mo because I endured so many months of chemo at my age, followed by two life-saving surgeries, one day apart.  Though none of his reasoning is new to me, accepting the reality of my age as 77 had not been fully digested based in the fact that others had always been flabbergasted upon learning how many birthdays I’d actually enjoyed.  In fact, the ease with which I’d revealed my age had been directly related to the degree of surprise that had always registered on the face of every new person I’d met.  Then chemo and serious surgeries saw the best of my physical energies sink to my knees—(literally, one day, upon leaving my bed).  And my short, salt and peppered look looks pretty washed out when compared with the sleek brunette, shoulder length style that had been mine throughout my adult life.  In short, from my point of view, very little about me feels or resembles—myself ...

Hmmm!  Now that I think of it, reflection suggests that once my mom, at the age of 82, had completely recovered from her emergency bowel resection, followed six weeks later by a quintuple by-pass, she’d fully regained her health and her spirit’s youthful vibrancy—and with time, so will I!

Thanx for listening, over these last few days, while a string of insight-driven, intuitive thoughts had need to tunnel its way out of the depths of my brain, offering today’s conflicted state of mind a much needed pep talk, which served to lift dark clouds of emotional confusion that had threatened to depress my spirit’s connection to patience until—just now!  Lately, the fact that I need to sweep away mental conflict in order to lift my level of patience another notch proves to be a daily task.

🙋🏻‍♀️Annie

PS  BTW, have I mentioned that my mom enjoyed 100 birthays?

Lots going on

What’s been going on?

A lot! Inside my head!

No wonder why

A spinning sense of

Turmoil has swallowed

The best of

My smile for

A while—

In addition to

Awaiting test results

Thumbs up

Thumbs down

Or inconclusive

Twice—

Have I thought

To mention

A Brief mental lapse

Which left

My processor

Partially inarticulate

In that I knew

What I’d wanted

To say but

Words were

Slow to come for

More than a day?

Have I thought

To mention

The death of

A dear friend

Whose funeral

We attended

Via Zoom?

And then

If I really

Let down my hair

I’ve been feeling

A natural build up

Of visceral

Irritation based in

Releasing

The safety valve

On Quarantining

(Having been

Fully vaccinated)

Which feels

Liberating and risky

All at once

To a person

Who’s been

In need of

Cocooning

Based in

The length of

Time that

I’ve been

Seriously ailing

Begging

The question

Have I been

Healing

All along or

Have I been

Heading toward

Another arduous

Upward climb

In need of

Mustering

Gargantuan

Proportions of

Inner strength—

Yet again ...

👩🏻Annie

WAITING IS WEARING

Results of second biopsy via bronchoscope are also inconclusive.  A CT biopsy will be scheduled. I’m feeling too disheartened to elaborate, today ... waiting is wearing ...

Annie

BUMPER CARS HAVE STEERING WHEELS

 After reviewing yesterday’s post, I found it to be misleading in that most of its content had not been included in the text sent to my friend.  At times, my texts prove to spin off into a string of thoughts that prove in need of airing so I can identify and relieve a swirl of negatively charged emotions that would otherwise react like bumper cars, targeting my choice to maintain a calm demeanor throughout the rest of this weekend in hopes that my processor will clearly absorb whatever my thoracic surgeon has to say, during my noon appointment, tomorrow.  How do I know my emotions are aswirl?  My digestive system is unsettled, and for the most part, I’m craving quiet.

Though cocooning continues to feel necessary, our dear friends, Andi and Michael, came over, today.  And as we and they are fully vaccinated (and it’s 99 degrees outside), we were together, indoors, for the first time in over a year.

As proved true, yesterday, today’s post contains content that I’d needed to convey to myself in that my visualization of swirling emotions as bumper cars has actually steadied my sense of self control, being that bumper cars have steering wheels, suggesting my mind’s ability to consciously steer away from emotional turmoil in favor of feeling positively focused about tomorrow’s appointment.

And once again, offering my power of intuitive thought the freedom to pen a post is good for the soul.

Annie

A GLIMPSE INTO OUR CURRENT SITUATION

Today’s reply to a close friend in the Midwest who keeps tabs on me, every day:

So as not to worry you unnecessarily, I’ve been quiet, lately, for sound reason.  As you may remember, I had a PET scan and chest CT, approximately two weeks ago.  Much to our surprised dismay, results of both studies showed a new mass in my right lung.

A week ago Friday, a biopsy via bronchoscope was performed.  I did not receive results of that study until Wednesday of this week, based in the fact that the findings were under lengthy consideration.  Why?  Well, the weekend factored in, but more importantly, the findings proved—inconclusive, capping off a two week period of time so disconcerting as to see me in need of cocooning.

Before those baffling results had been retrieved via my medical portal (rather than a phone call), I received a phone call from the scheduling office at Mayo informing me that I needed a Covid test asap before signing in at the reception desk for my biopsy via bronchoscope, scheduled for the very next day at 11am, prompting me to reply, “There must be a glitch in your system, because I had that procedure, last Friday.”  Next thing I knew, my mind dizzied up when the scheduler said, “A repeat of last Friday’s procedure has been ordered.”  “A repeat?  We’ve not yet received results of Friday’s procedure!”  Then, Will takes the phone, introduces himself as Dr. Shapiro and instructs the scheduler to have the doctor who ordered the repeat study to call us.

We wait for a while.  Our home phone rings once. We answer. No one is there. No caller ID

The phone rings, again.  Once.  Silence follows, taunting our nerves.

The third single ring burns into my ear.

Now, feeling utterly confounded, I consciously collect my intelligence before my brain’s basic instincts do what they’re programmed to do once anxiety spikes, which is to flood my brain with adrenaline, thus shattering my hold onto logic as if torrents of repressed anger, suddenly released, grab a dagger that stabs at my self control, repeatedly, severing my processor from clarity, liberating the limbic portion of my brain to scream its fury aloud concerning chest pain, which had been dismissed by every doctor whom I’d sought out for more than a year during which one misdiagnosis followed another while the tumor, as yet unidentified, continued to grow in plain sight.  And don’t even get me started about the harsh effects of chemo and the severity of pain endured after back-to-back surgeries, last summer ...

As airing the depths of my fury over human imperfection changes nothing for the better, I choose to master a mental state of calm, which, as previously mentioned, requires cocooning on my part.

Having been cautioned to calm himself, as well, Will calls scheduling at Mayo and asks that the doctor is given his cell phone number being that something is amiss with our landline.  And finally, we speak with a person in the know.

Last Thursday, Will and I returned home from Mayo after my repeat biopsy via bronchoscope followed by an upper GI scope, both of which were enhanced by making use of ultrasound.  Unfortunately, preliminary results do not look promising.

Will just came into our bedroom to say that while glancing through my medical portal, he found an appointment scheduled with my thoracic surgeon at Mayo, this coming Monday, begging the question—is this normal medical procedure, today?  Test results are recorded and appointments are scheduled, which may be missed if the portal is not consulted, daily?  Is all contact with medical staff conducted via portal rather than phone?  Though I write to my doctors, requesting a conversation, answers come via the portal from their PA’s.  I don’t get it.  Or more to the point, I don’t like it, at all.  Yet another change, not necessarily for the better, proving beyond my control.  For the most part, communicating with medical personal is no longer patient friendly.

As my heart and vessels appear cancer free, hopefully any reoccurrence of lung cancer can be resolved at Mayo.  Though my surgeons were wonderful and personally responsive, thoughts of returning to Houston for surgery darken my state of mind, which has rarely felt light-hearted for quite a long time.

Earlier this week, Wednesday evening to be exact, Steven placed an order with Grubhub, timed to be delivered to our house in tandem with his arrival with Ravi in tow. As soon as we’d finished eating, Ravi and I were seen playing princesses, which offered my spirit a much needed lift, being that this was the second time (in less than a week) that our fully vaccinated son and six year old grand daughter had been inside our home in over a year.  Quoting Ravi when asked how playing with Gramma inside our house made her feel:  “I’m so excited, my head is exploding!”

David, who had not left his apartment for 10 days (testing negative for Covid, twice during that time period) drove home from the coast, yesterday, and, thankfully, he’s scheduled himself to receive his first Covid vaccination at our football stadium, today.  And just as David remained on line until he’d scheduled my dear friend Edie’s first Covid injection, our youngest son scheduled his oldest brother, Barry’s first Covid injection for this past Tuesday, and thus does today’s post spotlight that all is not gloom and doom in our family for this reason: upon consciously considering each other’s many kindnesses, I have no doubt that we have more for which to feel thankful than not.

And as always, our love of life while we each offer one another’s spirits a lift (or a life raft when necessary) goes on ...

And on ...

Annie

IF AT FIRST YOU DON’T SUCCEED ...

Pathologist found the results of

Last  Friday’s biopsy

 Via bronchoscopy inconclusive

So, I’m scheduled to

Repeat that procedure

Today